


Context

by minkmix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 19:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15274821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkmix/pseuds/minkmix
Summary: "Repetition is the death of art you know."





	Context

Sam slid the seat belt across his shoulder, pulled it up over his mouth and bit down.

Hard.

From the corner of his eye, he tried not to watch Dean hit the rewind on the tape they had been listening to for almost an entire morning. He'd been able to tune it out for the first hour or so. The second hour he focused all his attention on every single thing that was passing by in the window while he diligently counted mile markers. By the third, the lyrics that had already been seared across his brain were now almost visible. Rolling past his eyes on a marquee, with one of those sing along bouncing balls…

He spit out the seat belt in rabid frustration.

"Repetition is the death of art you know."

Sam couldn’t read the brief look his brother gave him from behind black sunglasses. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“ _Men profess to be lovers of music, but for the most part they give no evidence in their opinions and lives that they have heard it._ ” He slumped back to stare up at the headliner. “Thoreau said that. Henry David.”

Dean checked both mirrors as he changed lanes to pass a Winnebago with a bumper sticker on the back that said: I ♥ The Heartland!

“ _The pause is as important as the note._ ” Sam said firmly. “T. Rex Fisher.”

“I gotta say,” His brother pointed at him. “A lot of people say T-Rex isn’t real rock, but I say 'She Was Born to Be My Unicorn' totally gets a pass.”

“He’s a composer.”

“And by the way, I’ll deny that to anyone you tell that to. Now, 'Salamanda Palaganda' on the other hand—“

“ _Silence…!_ ” Sam interrupted loudly. “… _is the fabric upon which the notes are woven._ Duncan, Lawrence.”

“Like the town?” Dean asked.

“Like the town.”

“Huh.”

“Wilde, Oscar.” Sam punctuated his words with a few well places open hand punches to the dash board. “ _If one hears bad music it is one's duty to drown it by one's conversation!!_ ”

Dean brusquely jabbed at the cassette player and the car was suddenly plunged into a blissful quiet.

Finally.

Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief. “ _In silence man can most readily preserve his integrity._ Meister Eckhart.”

His brother resettled himself in the driver’s seat and regarded Sam again, this time with his sunglasses pulled off. He seemed to ponder a moment before he spoke.

“ _There is something to this dream we're all involved in can I say it may exist…_ ” Dean recited. “ _So why then doesn’t the night show really matter if we dwell in the fields of regret?_ ”

Sam turned his attention back onto the blur of yellow grass and pine trees that were now pleasantly unaccompanied by the same three guitar riffs in the same three different orders. He considered his brother's words. Thoughtfully, he rolled his head on the back of the seat to look back at Dean.

“Who said that?”

“Cooper, Alice.”

Another tape slid into the player.

A brand new set of electric strings started blasting through the strained speakers along with even the louder thudding of drums. And if Sam wasn't mistaken, there was even a live crowd of thousands screaming in the background. Gripping his head the headache pounding behind his eyes quadrupled. He had read that Buddhist monks could disassociate themselves from corporal existence and suspend all senses in a cosmic limbo. This would eventually lead to the glorious soteriological release from rebirths in saṃsāra. Shoving himself back into the seat, Sam yanked his hoodie down over his eyes and considered the years upon years of mediation to reach that goal. 

But he figured he could skip all that.

A bullet straight to the cassette player sounded much more satisfying anyway.


End file.
